The subdued green light of late afternoon in Yrkanis filtered through the living room's silk curtains.
Embroidered seaweed cushions, bowls of fruit from the Bosquet and the scent of heated resin created an almost unbearable comfort of hushed luxury.
Sitting by an open window, Canillia absent-mindedly carved a leafy opal, her fingers nimble but her gaze absent.
For many moons, she had been living like a bad dream: aware of everything, but detached, as if suspended between two heartbeats.

- "You'll end up sculpting your own tomb."

Lyssan's soft, deceptively nonchalant voice drew her out of her thoughts.
He had slipped into the room as always, unannounced by any servant, without a sound.
He knew this house as well as she did.

Canillia didn't look up.
She smiles without warmth.
- "Aren't you supposed to be handling the wine cellar paperwork, master administrator?"

- Done. Delegated. And sorted by color, as you require."

He settled down opposite her, one gloved hand resting on the back of a chair.
On the other, he held out a black leather envelope, which had obviously passed through many hands.

Canillia raised an eyebrow.
- "You know I no longer open folds that smell of sulfur, Lyssan."

- You're lying.
You open them all.
You pretend not to read them, then slip them into this box under the statuette of the Mute Goddess."

She gave him a hard look, piercing like a jade chip.
It had been a long time since he had feared that look.
- "What if I tell you it's a job offer?"

- I don't need a job.
I've got a job, a cranky mother, a gorgeous partner, a half-used workshop and some annoying customers to please.
Everything's fine."

- "You're lying again.
You're bored out of your mind.
I know it, Altarae knows it and even you know it."

Canillia sighed heavily.
She placed the stone back on the velvet.
- "What is it this time?

• A dubious contract for a poisoner?
• A request for forged seals?
• A job in the sewers of Pyr reassembling goo with your bare hands?"

- Chemist.

- "Excuse me?"

- "They're looking for a chemist... Officially."

Canillia frowned.
The smell of the trap was slowly rising in his nostrils.
- "Who 'they'?"

- That's where it gets interesting.
Nobody knows.
The request came through one of Uncle's messengers.
You know, the fat guy with the wart on his nose."

- "Charming memory... Go on."

- He received a letter from one of his agents, who received it from another, and so on.
No names. Just an urgent need for a specialist.
An old depot... exploded."

- "What exploded?" she asked, squinting.

- "Fireworks. Trykers made touberies... Officially."

- "And unofficially?"

- "Do you want the truth or the thrill?"

- "You know me, I want both."

Lyssan leaned forward slightly, serious for once.
- The blast was felt as far away as Thesos.
The depot went up in smoke.
It's even said that seve crystals have melted.
Too powerful for fireworks.
And now we're looking to rebuild.
Fast. Inexpensive.
And if possible with people...
for whom we won't ask too many questions.

- "Disposables?"

- "Or lunatics." He shrugged. "Maybe both."

Canillia remained silent for a moment.
She observed the play of light on the back of his hand.
Wrinkles formed new patterns every day.
She thought back to Lea, to their laughter under the fountains of Pyr, to the warm nights when they talked about the future.
Then she thought again of the emptiness.
The one that no jewel, no court dance, no caress could fill.

- "I don't do that anymore, Lyssan."

- "I know."

- "And I don't want to lose Lea."

- She's already losing you. You're gone. Not really."

Silence fell like a veil between them. Then she took the letter.

- "And what do you think they are? Marauders? Antekamis? A cult of goo?"

- "It comes from the channels we use to talk to these kinds of people.
But they themselves don't know who the order really goes to.
Too clean, too indirect."

- "So dangerous."

- "That's why you look at the letter instead of burning it."

She stared at him.
He returned her quiet smile, the kind offered to tired souls who've seen too much to lie to themselves again.

- "This has got to be monumental bullshit, Lyssan."

- "That's for sure."

- "Do you think I should go?"

- I think you already know the answer to that question...
and if you don't, you'll die out.
Not all at once.
Slowly.Like a forgotten candle in an empty temple."

She looked down at the letter and weighed the leather.
She didn't open the door yet.

- Very well, then. I'll put my name forward."

- "You don't even know what you're going to say."

- I'll find out. I've always been able to talk to shadows."

And for the first time in several cycles, she's really smiling.

Day 1 - Arrival

The journey to what is known here as the "site" could have been romantic, if I hadn't spent half the time scanning the shadows, wondering if I was being followed.
Léa thinks I'm off supervising a new forge in Avalae. I hated every word of the lie.

The laboratory (I refuse to call it that) is housed in what appears to be a converted former fighter base.

Rotten wood,
blackened walls,
dry goo smell
and yubo urine.

Three "technicians" greeted me.
Two reeked of adulterated sap, while the third whistled at me like a waitress at Pyr.
I haven't yet decided whether I'm going to make him swallow his teeth or his tongue.

No clear instructions. No specifications. Just a code name: Project Ignis.

Day 3 - Getting started

It took me two days to take stock of the damage.
The retorts are cracked, the heating stones are tampered with,
and I swear someone tried to distill goo in a still.

Stocks are a carnival of errors:

pigments instead of catalysts,
dubious extracts without labels,

and above all...

Nothing like a secure chain of custody.
If a vial explodes, half the camp will catch fire.

I called a meeting this morning.
They looked at me as if I were speaking in Zorai.
One of them suggested "restarting the recipes they used to make".
I asked him which recipes.
He smiled at me.
I didn't like that smile at all.

Day 6 - Cleaning

The head guard, a Fyros tattooed to the eyeballs, demanded to know "who I was to give orders".
I told him I was the one who was going to stop his armor melting in the next ten days if we didn't change anything.
He laughed. We'll see how long.

I "gave" Uncle two assistants.
They were smuggling doses, probably for resale on Zora's black market.
I left a clear message: you fly here, you lose more than a job.

Lyssan sent me material through its own channels.
I didn't write to him.
I think he knows I can't do it right now.
[/i]

Day 9 - An attempt

Someone tried to break into my trunk. Bad idea.
I'd slipped in a little surprise of my own - nothing fatal.
Just enough to cause persistent diarrhea and auditory hallucinations for three hours.
The chief guard no longer looks me in the eye.
It's clear that my methods don't sit well.
But I'm not here to please. I'm here to understand what we're trying to do...
and why I was called.

Day 12 - Suspicion

Rumors are flying: some think I'm a spy sent by the Karavan.
Others, that I'm an infiltrated Goo priestess.
A lab assistant asked me if I'd been "touched by the mauve light".
I said yes.
He ran out of the room.
There's still no sign of the sponsor.
Messages arrive via a mute, masked intermediary who speaks only in gestures.
This morning he handed me a new "directive": "Increase the yield of unstable species.
"Unstable essence" of what, by Jena? Nothing is stable here, starting with my mood.

Day 15 - Structuring

The laboratory is starting to look like something functional.
I've moved the storage areas, imposed labeling, replaced the guards with veterans whom I pay out of my personal funds.
One of the former postmasters tried to start a fire.
Unfortunately for him, I was up before dawn.
He "accidentally" fell into a vat of vegetable glue.
we didn't have to send it back, but the contents of the tank were corrupted.
I'm beginning to wonder if I don't like this atmosphere a little too much.

Day 18 - The echo of emptiness

I dreamt of Léa last night.
She spoke softly to me, her hands full of amber dust.
When I woke up, I was crying.
I don't know if it's shame or lack.

I'm more and more convinced that the project has nothing to do with civil development.
The residues I recover from the tanks indicate a concentration of explosive elements well in excess of what would be used for artisanal use.
Perhaps a weapon. Perhaps fuel. Perhaps an abomination.
And me in it.

Day 21 - Peace in war

The lab works. Not well. But it works.
I'm still standing, despite the backstabbing, the innuendo, the stares.
I think they're beginning to understand that I'm here to stay... or die on my feet.
And deep down... I feel alive.
That's the worst of it.

Day 22 - The smell of blood

Last night, someone tried to enter my quarters.
Not to search. To kill me.
I opened my eyes half a second before the blade struck.
A hunch, or maybe just the habit of surviving.
I shifted, breathless.
The blade cut the air, then my skin - a gash on my cheek. Nothing vital. Just a warning.

He was no amateur. Nor a master.
Fast, discreet, well-trained. But not well enough.
I pinned him down, knee to chest, dagger to throat.
I ripped off his hood.
His face was unknown to me. But young. Too young for this kind of mission.
He made one last attempt. I marked him. A fine, clean cut from cheekbone to chin.
Not to kill him. To mark him.
I straightened up.
That's when the guard appeared - dishevelled, out of breath, half asleep.
He almost tripped on the threshold.
His eyes widened as he saw me bloodied, dagger still in hand, letting the intruder slip away.
I didn't scream.
I didn't give any orders.
I just looked at it.
Fixed.
Enough that the shame and fear hurt more than the screaming.
Then I threw him a rag and pointed to the blood on the floor.
"Clean up."
He obeyed.
Since then, I've been sleeping sitting up.
Dagger in hand.
Too risky to let go.

Day 24 - The threshold

Today, I crossed a line I swore I'd never approach.
several cycles ago, I studied Black Sap, the drug of the Clan hated by all: with all the coldness of a researcher.
Thanks to Vao-Ki'gan, I've learned how to make it, purify it and classify it.
I've tested its effects on yubos, observing a sudden increase in their acuity, aggressiveness, perception or death.
But never - never - had I considered taking them.

If it was just an object of knowledge for me. It was a weapon for others.

Today, I'm at war. And I'm alone.
Sleeping has become a mortal risk.

My alertness drops. My thinking slows down.
My reflexes betray me.
My heart remains strong, but my body... it's weakening.

So tonight, I closed all the doors. Pulled the curtains.
And in the deepest secrecy, I have assembled the Black Sap, the most stable, the cleanest of the officers.
The one I've perfected so that it doesn't arouse rage, but pure awakening.
I kept it in a black amber bottle. I engraved its symbol.
Tomorrow, I'll cross the final threshold.
I'll finally know what I've refused to feel until now.

Day 25 - Icy fire

I did.
I injected the minimum dose.
Just enough to test.
Just enough to... die.

The effects were immediate.
Violent, terrifying, I thought I was going to die, the pain tore through my body and then my mind:
I lost consciousness for several hours.
When I woke up, there was no pain.
No thrill. But an acceleration.
My whole heartbeat settled into an unfamiliar tempo, fast but fluid.
My gaze was multiplied: every particle of dust seemed to hang in the air.
I felt the veins pulsating under my skin, as if the whole world had revealed its lines of force to me.

I thought I knew this drug. I understood nothing.
It's not just a question of increasing capacity.
It's a redefinition of experience:
- Intuition becomes action.
- Fatigue disappears, replaced by a sharp lucidity.
- Doubt... has no place.

Now I understand why Vao called it "the Truth".
I didn't say anything. Nobody knows. No one must know.

But in the back of my mind, one question keeps coming up:
If I go back to being me after this... will I still be the same?

Day 26 - Dread and efficiency

I haven't slept...
I recalibrated the whole stabilization process in three hours.
I fired four other saboteurs.
I didn't need proof. They knew I knew.
Two fled.
The other two were tied up by their own people. Fear is more effective than authority.
I let them go.
It's not fear I want, it's respect.
And yet, a part of me screams that what I've become isn't... me.
But she's weak...

...And I'm strong.

Day 27 - The unknown reappears

I haven't slept
The masked messenger has returned.
He slipped in a fragment of a plan, engraved on a blackened amber plate.
He raised his hand in warning.
Not a word.
But in his eyes, I saw something.
A form of respect? Awe? Envy?
The project takes a strange turn.
The formulas don't correspond to anything we know.
It's like trying to create... a soul catalyst. A bridge between matter and will.
I'm on the verge of something gigantic.

Or monstrous.

Day 28 - Silent confession

I still can't sleep
I wrote a letter to Lea... I won't send it.

She says I'm sorry.
That I've been lying all along.
That I'm becoming the creature I once stalked.

I'll reread it every morning to remember what I'm losing.

Day 29 - Open warfare

They sent another attempt. More direct.
An ambush on the way back from the depot.
Three silhouettes, faces covered, weapons curved.
One of them pronounced my name with the hatred of a betrayed former lover.
They were good.
But I'm much more than I was.
I neutralized them without thinking.
The fight lasted the space of an infinite slowdown.
A symphony of blades, shadows and muffled screams.
My heart didn't even speed up.
Sap: it's always there.
She sings in me... softly.

Day 30 - The silence before the storm

I haven't slept in five days.
I haven't even tried it.
I'm starting to worry...
Is it the fear of not waking up?
Or the exhilaration of awakening?
I work tirelessly.
Some people are starting to look at me differently. With distrust. Or fascination.
The lab is running.
He obeys.
But it's no longer a place for science.
It's a field of chemical warfare.
Everyone tries to survive, dominate, or disappear.
Me, I stay right in the middle of the cyclone.

Day 31 - The impossible awakening

I slept... awake.
That's the only way to put it.
A state between two worlds.
Dreamless. No rest. Lucid floating.
When I woke up, I needed another dose.
It wasn't planned.
I thought I could settle for just one...

It's a lie!

Now I cherish my lucidity.
This sharp lucidity. Divine.
And that clarity should scare me more than anything.

Day 32 - Scission

I think there are two Canillia now.
Or maybe there have always been two... and the Sap has simply separated them.
There's the one that acts: precise, fast, as sharp as a shard of glass.
She commands. It slices. It calculates the necessary deaths.
She doesn't doubt. She doesn't cry.
It's what others see. She's the one the lab follows.
And then there's the other.
The one who's watching.
The one who, every evening, writes in this diary, as if to save something.
The one who asks herself, "When did I stop asking for forgiveness?"
I can't really hear his voice anymore.
She speaks low, inside. As if she were moving away.
But I still feel its presence, clinging to the edge of my mind.
A useless witness. A powerless conscience.
Sometimes our eyes meet, in a reflection or a silence.
And in his eyes - my eyes - I read fear.
But it's not the fear of dying.
It's the fear of disappearing.
La Sève has opened doors.
I see the invisible connections. The hidden agendas.
I feel the imminence of gestures.
I'm stronger, faster, clearer than I've ever been.
But every action, every decision taken without hesitation,
I walk away from her.
From me.
And I'm beginning to understand the ultimate danger:
It's not about losing your life.
It's losing who I was.
And to never want to find her again.

Day 33 - The broken mirror

I found myself face to face with her today.
In a place that exists only in my mind.
A white, cold, infinite corridor.
At the end, a cracked mirror.
And in that mirror, another Canillia.
She looked at me, calm and fearless.
His gaze was hard, sharp.
She spoke in a clear, metallic voice, without trembling.
- I'm the one who acts.
The one who sees faster, hits harder.
Without me, you'd already be dead.
Without me, this laboratory would be in ruins."
I replied, my voice trembling, like a tired shadow.
- What about me? What am I?
Weakness? Memory?
The pain you refuse to feel?"
She smiled, almost tenderly.
- You are the witness.
The archivist of what we were.
You preserve the traces of the humanity I sacrifice.
Without you, I'd just be a machine."
A silence settled in, heavy and dense.
- "But what if I disappear?" I whispered.
- "Then I'll be alone.
And that will be your end - and mine."
I can still feel his words vibrating in my mind, like a promise... or a threat.
We're linked.
Indissociable.
And together, we maintain this fragile balance.
I don't know how long I can keep up this dialogue without bursting.
But for now, it's the only way to stay whole.

The corridor stretches on forever, wider and emptier.
The walls no longer glisten: they ooze a black, oily liquid, pulsing like a wound.
The white light, raw, violent, falls from a ceiling without source. No logic.

She's waiting for me.

The other.
She looks at me like a defective tool.
Cold. Calculating. Perfectly still.
Her eyes are dry. Infinitely dry.

She doesn't need to shout.

I want to step back, but my legs don't belong to me anymore.
I want to speak, but my mouth sneers - a terrible, grating laugh, not mine.

All that's left of my body is pure terror.
Each fragment of me dissociates, crumbles.
And my hands... are no longer mine.

I see her get up.
It cuts through our distorted memories, like a blade slipping between two ribs.

I hold out a hand - a last gesture - but already I'm a blur.
My skin is fading.
My memory is dissolving.
I'm dying here.
Or worse - to be replaced.

I can see myself screaming.
Running.
Falling into a white light that eats away at me.

The cry bursts into the night

Canillia sits up violently in bed, plucked from the nightmare like a bottomless pit.
His eyes are wide and bloodshot.
She gasps like a hunted beast.
Her fingernails lacerated the sheets down to the flesh.
She doesn't know where she is anymore.

His heart pounds. Irregular. Insane.
- "NO! I'm still here! I'M STILL HERE!!!"

Léa grabs her, squeezes her, tries to bring her back.
But Canillia struggles. Claws. Screams an unknown name.
His voice is hoarse, broken, foreign.

Then she collapses.
Léa held her back, trembling.

Canillia sobs. Violent hiccups from another age.
- "I... I was gone... She... chased me away... like trash..."

Léa cradles her, stammering empty words.
But his gaze is frozen. Terrified.

It's not just a crisis.
Not a bad dream.

It's a return from the dead.

And what she brought back in her eyes...
Is he really still home?